


Just For the Night (Oneshot)

by lameartboy



Category: Homestuck
Genre: College AU, Collegestuck, Drunk Sex, Drunkenness, M/M, Possible Coersion?, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-20 12:21:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4787087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lameartboy/pseuds/lameartboy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John has loved Dave his whole life, and only feels that love when Dave is drunk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just For the Night (Oneshot)

You can still remember the first day you met Dave Strider. It was the first day of second grade, and already you were an outcast. Your teeth were worse than they had ever been, your thick mop of black hair a mess, and your glasses much too big for your face. You were immediately cast out of the hierarchy that was elementary school. That specific Day you were on your way home from school proudly donning your Ghost Busters backpack and tee-shirt when that awful girl Vriska showed up. How she had figured out your rout home you didn’t know, but she did, and almost immediately started making remarks about your buck teeth, clothes, hair; anything and everything she could make fun of. And, let’s face it; she had a lot of ammunition. 

She pushed you down and laughed, her cohorts chuckling along with her. Right when you were ready to burst into tears, he showed up. You were fairly sure he was new, and you remember thinking back then already that he was cute. He had light blonde hair that you remember thinking looked really soft, a light dusting of freckles over his cheeks and nose, and those famous shades resting upon his face. Dave Strider Had just moved with his brother from Houston on account of work and already had made it known that he had no desire to make his way to the top of the social food chain in spite of the way people gravitated towards him. He had calmly stepped between you and Vriska and told her off, being the first to ever make fun of her eyepatch and causing her to gape openmouthed at him. With nothing left to say, she had left quickly, leaving Dave to help you up and introduce himself. And that was the start, the very beginning. 

Years passed, you grew into your teeth while Dave remained cool in every way. And over those years, you claimed consistently that you were “not a homosexual” and denied, even to yourself, that you were completely and helplessly in love with Dave Strider. It was that love that compelled you to stand by his side no matter what, and, as you got older, to carry him home from whatever frat house drinking game he had tried, and failed, to win. That love compelled you to let him kiss you, touch you, and take you as his own, only to forget what he had done in his latest drunken stupor. You never told him, you couldn’t. Because no matter how much it hurt to have to dress him after he fell asleep and pretend it never happened, you craved these nights of explicit affection. You loved this boy with every fiber in your body. You were in love with Dave.

It was a warm August night the night Roxy Lalonde challenged Dave to a drinking game. You knew he could rarely beat anyone, but Roxy? Dave didn’t stand a chance, but you didn’t say anything. Of course, as you predicted, he drank himself stupid and was left by everyone else for you to drag home. And that’s just what you did. You lugged his sorry ass all the way back to you apartment and laid him out on the bed, watching as his eyes lazily traveled over you. You knew what that meant. You quietly got down on the bed next to him, and he attacked your lips instantly. You let out a small initial protest before you essentially melted into the kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck as he rolled over top of you and slid his hands from their place on your hips to grab your ass. You let out a pleased whine, your tongue impatiently prodding at his lips, looking for an entrance. He parted them and your tongues tangled together, fighting for dominance, which he won. He always did. 

His hand moved between your legs and began palming your already obviously hard length and you outright moaned because holy Hell that felt amazing. He quickly removed your shirt, pulling it over your head and hungrily moving to your neck, nipping and sucking and soothing any particularly harsh bites with his tongue as if to apologize. He asked you about your hickeys before, jokingly, and assumed you had been getting them in drunken hookups. He was strangely almost right. You moaned again and he smirked, that asshole. You whined and tugged at his shirt and clumsily pulled it over his head, his lips finding yours again. He tasted like cheap beer, but you pretended not to care. His hands grasped your hips and yanked down your pants and boxers, grabbing your heated arousal in his chilled fingers and stroking softly. You moaned loudly and bucked your hips up into his teasing fingers and now he was sliding down your legs and – oh. That’s something new. He tongued gently at the slit and you swore you were going to die. Dave just kept going, running his tongue up the vein on the underside and massaging your balls with the hand he wasn’t using to hold down your hips. Which were doing everything in their power to get more contact. 

“Ah! D-Dave, I can’t, I’m g-gonna…” You moaned to him, the first thing you had said all night. He realized how close you were and pulled back completely, causing you to whimper. He left your side for a moment, all but falling off the bed but was back next to you with a familiar bottle in his hand that you knew all too well was lube. He squeezed some out onto his hand and was quickly sliding a finger into your entrance and prodding around for that spot you swear he had memorized. You heard yourself cry out and saw stars, and you knew he had found it. He kept thrusting his finger into that spot and you barely noticed when he had two, then three digits in you, scissoring and stretching. You felt a jolt of anticipation as he pulled his fingers away; you knew what was coming, and Dave wasn’t exactly small. He slicked himself up well and positioned himself at your entrance. 

“You ready?” he asked, looking into your eyes. At times like this, you swear you knew he loved you, his eyes full of concern for your feelings. But you could hear the obvious slur in his voice and how he swayed slightly as he hovered over you, and you could remember how he flirted with that pretty blonde cheerleader at the party, and it mad your heart sink and you could barely nod a yes to him without breaking into tears. He pushed into you fast, causing you to cry out in pain but he had enough sense to wait for your signal to start moving. The first few thrusts were painful and left you whimpering, trying to relax, and as they progressed you found yourself in utter bliss, moaning louder than Dave himself. He was groaning and slamming into you, his fingers digging into your hips. He angled his thrusts upward and then Jesus Christ you were seeing stars and you screamed his name, coming hard. He was set off by this and filled you up and, for the first time ever, pulled you into his chest, falling into a restful sleep. You smiled and decided that this time, you would lay with him and imagine that he loved you.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ You woke to a surprised shout and a thud as Dave scrambled to cover himself. You were sitting up and rubbing your eyes as he was yanking on his boxers, and your heart sank; you had fallen asleep in his arms.

“What the Hell John?!” he shouted. You couldn’t quite place his expression; He looked like he couldn’t decide whether to be angry or hurt, but he definitely looked confused. “Well?”

Now he looked mad. God, he probably thought you took advantage of him. It was all over, you knew it, and there was nothing you could say. You tried anyways but when you opened your mouth, nothing could come out. You saw his face start to shift to concern as tears sprung into your eyes and you put your head down with a hand over your mouth to muffle your cries. You were going to lose Dave Strider, your best friend and true love.

“John, are you… crying?” Dave climbed back onto the bed and scooted closer, seeing your shaking shoulders and running a nervous hand through his hair. “Shit, no its okay, come ‘ere.” He gently pulled you into his lap, and held you close as you sobbed into his chest, apologies streaming out of your mouth in hushed whispers.

“Shh, John its okay, I’m not mad,” he said, stroking your hair and rocking you back and forth. You sniffled, composing yourself and wiping your eyes but staying in his lap. “It happens every time you get drunk. The first time I wasn’t so sure,” you were crying harder now, tears making small rivulets down your face, “but I let you do what you wanted to me because I… I love you.” You ended in a sob, and he let out a sad hum, hugging you tighter as you began to sob again. 

“John, I’m so sorry, this wasn’t supposed to happen,” he said. You only cried more. You knew that this was the part where he told you he didn’t feel the same, and you couldn’t take that right now.

“D-don’t say it. Please,” you said, snuggling up to his chest, a tightening pain in yours that was only growing stronger. 

“John, I don’t think you understand.” Of course you understood, Dave took your virginity drunk, and he doesn’t love you like you love him. He just sighed and tipped your chin up to meet your eyes and smiled. “You are so clueless, aren’t you?” Dave’s tone wasn’t rude or mocking; he almost sounded caring, loving even. And you thought you knew better until he leaned down and gently brought his lips to yours. 

At first you were taken aback; you thought he was straight, but the more you thought about it the more you realized that you had no confirmation of that. You had only seen a bit of careless flirting from him over the years and, truthfully, most of it was directed at you. You were sitting and contemplating all of this while Dave was starting to get pretty worried as to why you weren’t kissing him back. He pulled back with a slight frown, searching for some sort of reaction. You came back to the present and realized that he was staring and you giggled, leaning up to bring your lips together once again. He responded enthusiastically and it no longer mattered that he had been drunk, that you were still naked or that your ass hurt like Hell. He loved you. Dave Strider loved you.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this like two years ago and found it recently so I revised it and am now posting it :) I'd just like to say that I'm aware that Dave was under the influence and therefor unable to consent. I'm also aware that Dave pressured John into sleeping with him. Just wanted to make sure that it was known that even though I wrote about it, that doesn't make these things okay.


End file.
